Once in deepest despair,
the mind clutches hard,
at fragile strands grasps
for hope's brittle shard.

Softly speak the skies;
whirling whispers in ears,
faintly promising better days
and beauty beyond tears.

Sunshine fills the days,
stars streak the night:
far eternal flaming beacons,
purity born of light.

She'll appear for thee,
this maid of dreams.
In darkly dying hours,
beside quick silver streams.

Hasten not for glory,
nor surrender's fast release.
Brave your chosen course,
laugh, be at peace.